Page 20 of The Chosen Two

“Your.”

Swing.

“Mother.”

Swing.

“Ever.”

Swing.

“Tell you.”

Swing.

“Not to play with your food.”

This time, I clear the hide. The machete slices through the beast’s neck with such surprising ease that I spin to the side with the force of my swing, almost falling into another wall of boxes. In the same moment, something warm and thick splashes across my face and hands. I’m glad I don’t own any good clothes, because I’m pretty sure when I look down, I’ll find every inch of my body covered in blood. I take a deep breath and use the inside of the collar of my shirt to wipe my face so I can at least see.

As the adrenaline fades, my arms and legs start shaking. I drop the machete and fall backward, tears silently streaming down my face. I roll to my side just in time to be sick without choking myself on it.

Holy shit. I’m alive. I killed something. I killed a minotaur! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

Behind me, I hear clapping. I spin to face the entrance of the dead end, only to see George Keating, the man child that got me into this mess, grinning from ear to ear.

He rakes his eyes over the decapitated monster on the ground, before raising his eyebrows and looking my blood-soaked body up and down. This man, in his pleated khakis and crisp polo shirt, has the audacity to cross his arms in pride and announce, “Told you so! Now, do you believe you can do this?” Then, without even waiting for an answer, he adds, “Okay, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

***

In the car, we sit in silence for a few minutes. Well, except for plastic that crinkles with my every breath.

“I cannot believe you wrapped me in a contractor bag.”

“Really? This is a new car, and you’re covered in minotaur blood.” His voice cracks a little on the word “you’re.” His head is angled to the window but I see the hint of a smirk on the side of his face.

I’d almost find that adorable if he wasn’t so irritating. “I’m covered in minotaur blood…because of you, George!”

He shrugs. He can’t argue that point.

Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle.

Now he’s irritated. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t exactly check my watch or pull out my phone. I’m trying to find the clock in this new car.”

He smirks and taps a spot on the very busy control display in the center of the dashboard. “It’s 10:47.”

“Wow, I am good. That was fast! I still have so much time before I have to pick up my kids.” This must be adrenaline talking because I feel like I was in there a month.

“Well, that’s good, because you really need to get cleaned up first. In fact, it’s probably a good idea for you to get cleaned up before you go to your house. Unless you want to cover your own car in minotaur blood, or for your neighbors to see you hopping in in a trash bag.”

“Ugh. Fine. Where are we going? I believe I was promised coffee.”

“My place. And I’ll brew a pot while you clean up. I definitely need some caffeine as well.”

“You’re place? That’s kind of weird.”

“Nope. Not weird. It’s fine. It’s your new headquarters after all.”

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